Until Death Us Do Part
by Woolverine
Summary: A look at Dragon Age from Alistair's POV. It starts with Alistair at Ostagar, waiting for Duncan to return with new recruits for the Grey Wardens.
1. Special Delivery

**Special Delivery**

Alistair was reading a book on battle strategy. It was extremely dull. Duncan had given him a reading list, and told the Senior Wardens to make Alistair stick to his studies. The young man thought he had left this kind of education behind when Duncan had rescued him from the templars. Switching between the terror of darkspawn skirmishes and the sodden boredom of reading was leaving Alistair perpetually shaking his head, trying to clear it.

"Are you the warden named Alistair?" a man asked.

"That depends on what you want him for," Alistair replied, closing the book gratefully. The man looked somewhat familiar.

"I've got a letter for you, from Duncan. I'm one of his new recruits, Ser Jory is my name."

"Glad to meet you. Duncan still out hunting then?"

"It's explained in the letter, I suppose. He said I wasn't to mention anything to anyone," Ser Jory said.

Alistair was surprised. He took the letter, but resisted the temptation to open it immediately. He'd find Ser Jory a billet first and get him fed. The man looked like he needed a hot meal. Those duties seen to, he took the letter off to a far corner of the camp where he hoped to read it undisturbed.

_Alistair_ (he read)

_This should have reached you by the hand of Jory, a knight of Highever. I am sending him on ahead while I take a more indirect route. The identity of my other recruit from Highever necessitates caution. Her parents gave their permission and the girl is willing enough  
_  
"Girl? Oh, interesting. Very interesting."

_but there are those who have another fate planned for her. I don't want to risk conscripting anyone else at this point. She'll need to go through the Joining as quickly as possible, for her protection if nothing else. Have the other recruits waiting. You'll go out with them, of course._

Additionally I want to keep her away from the other Wardens until after the Joining. She is in a bad way right now, and if they see the state she's in, I think I would be hard pressed to convince them of her suitability.

"I wonder what sort of state that is?"

_She is highly competent nevertheless, trained as a warrior with sword and shield. I think she will be an excellent sparring partner for you, Alistair. She is nimble and fast. She has also had the political education you lack. You will be able to learn much from each other._

I will tell you the details of her recruitment when I arrive. Another unhappy tale, I'm afraid. I hope you are keeping out of trouble.

Duncan

The junior warden's curiosity woke up and barked for biscuits. No mention of the girl's name, why she was in danger, who might be after her. It was typical of Duncan to tease him like this. His mentor knew exactly how nosy Alistair was, and how to drive him mad with the need to know. Well, he'd show Duncan, so he would. When Duncan finally put in an appearance at Ostagar, he would not find Alistair waiting for details with his tongue hanging out. He'd be elsewhere, doing Other Stuff.

Word had been passed along. Mounted scouts had seen Duncan and a companion nearing Ostagar. Alistair had all the arrangements in place. The mages had been asked to stand ready for potion preparation. The other two recruits, Ser Jory and Daveth, were nearby. He had positioned himself where the Revered Mother would see him, and find a task for his idle hands. The Grey Warden camp was closed to all visitors, and that alone had taken some fast thinking on his part.

Alistair was winding up a self-important prig of a mage when he spotted a young girl approaching. She came closer after the mage flounced off.

"Are you Alistair?" she asked.

"You're not another mage, are you?" he joked. He wasn't confident talking to women and the younger they were, the worse it was. Apart from babies. He could talk to baby women just fine.

Anyway, this girl looked far too young to be in the middle of an armed camp. Her eyes were two deep, dark holes in a pale grey face. She was dressed in expensive looking light armour. Alistair noticed her arms and legs were blotched red with cold. She looked awful. Ah ha!

"You must be Duncan's new recruit. I recognise you from his description," he said, then mentally slapped himself. Let's hope she doesn't ask what that description was, Alistair thought.

"Yes. I'm Amelie. Duncan told me to find you when I was ready to prepare for the Joining ritual." She was soft spoken, with an educated accent.

"Are you? Right, let's collect the others and meet up with Duncan."

As they walked through the camp Alistair chatted to Amelie in a friendly manner. In his head, there was an entirely different conversation.

'Sweet Andraste! What was Duncan thinking? She's what? fourteen? fifteen? What kind of mess can a genteel child get into so that her only hope is becoming a Grey Warden? And she is freezing cold. She's clenching her jaw so her teeth don't chatter. Her build's sturdy enough, I suppose. I can see some good muscle on her arms. Shame she looks three-quarters dead."

Duncan was waiting by a large fire. Alistair saw Amelie edging closer and closer to the heat. Poor kid! He frowned at Duncan and pulled him to one side.

"I don't think she's up to this," he said quietly.

"She has to be." Duncan was grim.

"Who is she? Tell me that at least before we go on."

"A freshly made orphan. I had to drag her from the side of her dying father. Her mother covered our retreat. She's being hunted and thanks to Cailan meeting us at the gate, her enemies know exactly where she is."

Alistair chewed his bottom lip. An unhappy tale, indeed. "Will becoming a Grey Warden be protection enough?" he asked. He wasn't going to ask why Duncan wanted to protect the girl.

"Maybe. At least we can put plenty of swords between Amelie and her enemies."

"She's still a child though. Is she even old enough to survive the ritual?"

"Amelie's older than I was when I joined." Duncan spotted Alistair's disbelief. "She's nineteen, Alistair. How old did you think she was?"

"A lot younger than that, obviously," Alistair replied. "Can I at least get something hot inside her to warm her up?"

"As long as you do it in private," Duncan agreed with a small smile.

"Huh? Oh! Hey! That's not what I meant." Alistair blushed hotly and hung back as they rejoined the recruits.

If this was what it was going to be like with a girl along, Alistair thought he might need a new mentor. He wasn't sure he could cope with Duncan's sense of humour and a female at the same time.


	2. We Gather Together

**We Gather Together**

Alistair turned to the three recruits after Duncan walked away.

"Right, you've got time for a quick clean up if you like before we do the ritual. I wouldn't recommend eating anything beforehand though," he said.

Daveth and Jory both elected to nip back to their billets to remove the worst of the gore and the mud coating them. That left Amelie standing uncertainly in front of him. Out in the Wilds, with tasks to complete, the girl had been quick and decisive, able to motivate and encourage the other recruits. Meeting the strange Morrigan and her mother had been an unexpected test, but again, Amelie had handled it well, behaving as courteously as if she were dealing with two noblewomen. Alistair knew he hadn't handed the encounter nearly as well as Amelie had, but he hadn't been trained to handle a woman showing a significant portion of her lady bits. Erm, not handle. Deal with. Definitely. He wasn't going to think about Morrigan's lady bits and handling in the same thought - arrgh! he'd done it again. Amelie. Yes, she was still here, still looking at him.

"This will be a chance for you to pick up your gear from where you left it earlier and get sorted out a bit," Alistair suggested.

Amelie blushed, and hefted her bag. "This is my gear," she answered.

Well, didn't he feel like a total tosspot now. He'd seen exactly how little there was in Amelie's bag when she'd stowed the treaties in it. She had a few health poultices, herbs and some biscuits. No spare socks, nothing warm, nothing to change into from her armour. Dear Maker, hadn't Duncan thought to get anything for the girl?

"Well, that's simply not acceptable," he said, adding when Amelie reddened further, "I'm not telling you off, Amelie. I'm saying, we're going to get some stuff for you. First, let's go see the Quartermaster."

"Um, Alistair, I don't have any money, well, some, a few pennies," she mumbled, still clearly mortified.

Alistair ruffled her hair, like he used to do to younger initiates at the Chantry. "Remember all those weapons and helmets I made Jory carry back? We'll trade to the quartermaster to get bits and pieces you need. Plus, there's the money we took off the darkspawn. As you killed all of them by yourself, I think we should spend it on you."

"I didn't kill all of them," Amelie protested, her blush fading. "Jory prodded a couple of the short ones with his sword and Daveth hit one of the big ones on the head with a rock. You did a lot of the work."

"So you say now. I had to run pretty fast to get even a single swing in at them, the speed you were hacking away." Alistair grinned at her. "You lied to me, you're obviously an experienced slayer."

Amelie's eyes brightened. A big fat tear rolled out onto her cheek. "It was only my second time fighting for real. The first time was when ...was when..."

When her parents were murdered, Alistair finished silently. Dear Andraste, please let me have a conversation with this girl without shoving my foot in my mouth all the way up to my knee. How much more of a fool can I get? I don't know how to deal with a crying girl. I don't think I've even seen a girl cry, unless you count Isolde's tantrums, and I don't want to count them, because Amelie has nothing in common with Isolde apart from the obvious. Alistair looked down at the ground. Instead he found himself looking straight down the front of Amelie's armour and noticing how nicely she filled it.

Don't think of her as a girl, don't think of her as a girl, he chanted in his head. That way lies cold baths and lightning strikes. Let's pretend she's a boy. What did I do when one of the little initiates started crying? I pretended I hadn't noticed. Fine, I have a plan, nope, a strategy - implement it.

"Well, I'm extremely impressed then, Amelie. I'll need to work hard to keep my place as Duncan's favourite with you around," Alistair said lightly.

"I don't think we need to compete," Amelie replied in a stronger voice. "I'm clearly far superior to you, Alistair."

"Oh ho, fighting words! What's your cooking like?"

Amelie grinned back at him, a huge cheeky grin that transformed her countenance. Alistair's heart skipped a beat. It's like the sun and the moon and the stars have all come out at once, he thought. La la la, she's a boy, she's a boy, she's a boy, he sang in his head.

"Better than yours, and I've never cooked anything in my life," she was saying.

"Has Duncan been slagging off my cooking? How dare he! I make an excellent lamb stew and and a tremendously good leftover soup."

"From leftovers, I take it?"

"No, I call it that because there's always plenty left over," he joked and she giggled, actually giggled. "Come on, grab some of this gear and follow me. The quartermaster's is over this way."

Alistair put Amelie in charge of the trading, saying her feminine wiles might secure them a better deal. "Though I am adamant my eyelashes are longer than yours," he finished.

The transaction turned out to be more of a sale than a trade. The quartermaster had few clothing items and they were all far too big for Amelie. Alistair picked out a shirt and blushingly suggested it as a nightgown. Amelie blushingly agreed. In the end all they bought was the shirt, a pack and some bandages.

"We need women!" Alistair announced after they finished haggling and were walking away.

"That's not something you say very often," Duncan interrupted. They hadn't heard him approach. "In fact, you're usually saying the exact opposite. 'Arrrgh, women! Protect me, Duncan!'"

"Duncan! You're just showing off in front of Amelie," Alistair protested. "He doesn't normally have a sense of humour, you know. Normally, he's all grim and gritty in a 'if I smiled my face would crack and fall off my skull' way."

"Well, yes, when I've only got your jokes to listen to." Duncan grasped Amelie by the shoulder. "How are you doing, my dear? Is this rapscallion taking good care of you?"

Amelie shook her head. "He's already tried to trick me into doing all the cooking, Duncan."

"That's a lie! A big, fat, pustulent lie!"

She ignored Alistair's interjection. "He says I need at least three pairs of socks."

"He's right. How many pairs do you have already?" Duncan asked.

Alistair jumped in to answer. "Now you ask! Some commander you are, you should have checked days ago. Amelie, you wouldn't believe the number of lectures Duncan has given me on the importance of dry feet." He gave the other warden a quick, warning glance.

"The Revered Mother assured me the only way you ever learned anything was through constant repetition or regular beatings, Alistair. I'd rather not see your hairy arse every day," Duncan bantered.

Amelie laughed in a very unladylike fashion.

"Don't laugh yet, missy," Duncan continued. "Now I've got you, you can beat Alistair for me. My tongue could do with a rest."

"You've been using your tongue on Alistair's arse?" Amelie shot back, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Duncan roared with laughter.

"Great," Alistair said bitterly. "Now I've got two of them picking on me."

Duncan clapped Alistair on the back. "Don't worry, lad. It's going to be fun."

"You always say that, and I never believe you," Alistair replied. "Have we got time to go scrounging?"

"Yes, the mage hasn't finished the potion yet. Where are the other two?"

"Getting cleaned up a bit. I did warn them not to eat."

"Um, why is eating a problem?" Amelie enquired.

Duncan and Alistair exchanged glances then Duncan shrugged.

"It isn't, if you don't mind violent vomiting. Not everyone reacts like that to the potion but better safe than sorry," he said.

"Puke is incredibly difficult to get out of chainmail," Alistair remarked jovially. "Right, let's go twist some arms, young recruit."

Alistair led Amelie over to a section of the camp which seemed to be swarming with Chantry sisters.

"I should explain. I grew up from age ten in a monastery. While it has left me with horrible nightmares, I'm also quite good at talking to Chantry busies in their own language." Alistair paused, a bit panicky. "Er, are you devout?"

"Yes, extremely. How dare you speak so of the devoted Chantry sisterhood!" Amelie scolded sternly. She giggled when Alistair winced. "Got you."

"I think I preferred you before I'd actually met you. Now, no giggling or smirking. Can you look cold? And sad? Yep, that's perfect. Stand here being miserable. Give me your bag and take this empty pack."

Alistair approached a sister with an ample bosom. He smiled politely and waited for her to speak first.

"Yes, child, do you need something?" the sister asked.

"Not I, sister, but that young lady over there requires some, ah, female assistance," he said, avoiding the sister's eyes.

"Oh, indeed?"

"Amelie is a new recruit to the Grey Wardens, under unfortunate circumstances." Alistair lowered his voice. "She escaped the darkspawn with only the things she stood in, not even a spare pair of socks, never mind unmentionables or anything else."

Alistair hoped the sister wouldn't ask too many questions. He knew Amelie's true story would wring the heart of the hardest Chantry busy. He also knew that the condolences from strangers would not be acceptable to the girl.

"I've bought a shirt for her to use as a nightgown. That was all the Quartermaster had which was suitable. I got a few bandages as well she could maybe use as replacement unmentionables but ..." Alistair let his voice trail away bashfully. He wished he could blush on command.

"Oh, the poor child. I'm sure we can find some clothes for her. Leave it all to me, Warden."

The sister rushed over to Amelie, grabbed her and pressed the girl against her chest. Amelie's face vanished completely. "Poor darling. So young and so brave. Come with me."

Alistair watched as Amelie was dragged into the Chantry encampment. He knew she'd come back with a pack stuffed full of everything the sister thought the girl might need. Yep, big bosom usually meant big softy in his experience with Chantry sisters. He also thought a little fussing would keep Amelie from brooding about the ritual. Amelie had already shown an incredibly brave front in the face of danger and the unknown ritual. Alistair didn't know much about women but he was pretty sure that new clothes distracted most of them.

Anxiety snatched at Alistair instead. Amelie might be about to die a horrible death, right in front of him. He'd tried to make this last half hour entertaining at least, tried to be reassuring. Duncan had said Amelie was his own age. Certainly she fought like an experienced warrior. Alistair couldn't quite shake his first impression of her, as a lost child, nearly blue with cold, however. He liked her too, probably more than he should at this point. It had been easy to not get attached to Daveth and Jory. Neither had shown much humour or adaptability.

"Please, Maker, let her live. Let her, especially, live," he prayed, more fervently than he had managed in years.


	3. After the Battle

**After the Battle**

Morrigan and the old woman had assured Alistair that Amelie would live. He had never wanted to believe anyone as much as he wanted to believe the two apostates. Amelie's injuries had been severe. He had been separated from her in the darkspawn onslaught after Amelie had lit the signal beacon. Alistair had fought like a man possessed to get back to her, knowing that their greatest chance of survival was together. Even as Amelie fell, overwhelmed by enemies, she fought on. Alistair's last glimpse had been of the girl headbutting a hurlock. Then he had been in his own final struggle, knowing his death was seconds away, determined to kill as many darkspawn as he could. Alistair's memories of what happened next were hazy. He remembered the darkspawn falling back in confusion, he remembered an enormous shadow, being grabbed and lifted, then nothing. He'd woken up here, with the elder apostate forcing some liquid down his throat. Amelie had been next to him, limp, still, drenched in blood.

Right now, Alistair knew Amelie lived, because he could sense her inside the shack. The tenuous connection was all that was keeping him tethered to reality. Morrigan and her mother had told him what they had seen of the battle, of Loghain's treachery. He hadn't believed them. Morrigan had taken Alistair to a spot where they could look down on the Ostagar battlefield so he could see for himself. The shock and horror had been immense. Dead bodies everywhere, the darkspawn dragging away the injured who moaned and cried for help. Morrigan had had to grab his arm and remind Alistair of the friend he could help best by living. He wanted to charge down that hill and slaughter everything standing. Alistair had seen a corpse he thought was Duncan's - if Duncan had given the slightest sign of life nothing would have stopped Alistair from racing to his aid.

He heard the shack door open. He assumed it was Morrigan, about to deliver another sarcastic progress report. If Amelie died, Alistair decided, he was definitely going to kill that heartless apostate bitch.

"Alistair!" Amelie called.

He swung round, and when she ran to him, Alistair wrapped his arms around her in a crushing embrace.

"They're all dead, Amelie, all of them. I was sure you were going to die too," he whispered. He started crying again.

"I know, I know." Amelie hugged him back, standing on tiptoe to press her cheek against his. She was crying too.

"The King, Duncan ..." Alistair's voice broke as he remembered his mentor's corpse.

Amelie tightened her hold, kissed away one of his tears. Alistair had known her for a few days and now she was all that was left of his order in Ferelden. Alistair knew he should take charge, take care of Amelie ... the grief was ravaging him, wringing the life's blood from him, heart and soul. He couldn't bring himself to care for anything beyond this moment, beyond the meagre comfort of someone sharing his grief.

"Listen," Amelie said softly into his ear, "I'll get us away from here, to somewhere safe. We can talk then, and grieve properly together without an audience. You're not alone, Alistair. I'm here with you."

"I thought you were going to die too," he repeated.

"I didn't. I'm here, and we are going to stick together, right?"

"Right," he agreed, swallowing his misery.

Amelie stepped away from his embrace but held on to his hand. Alistair used the feel of the warmth and strength in her fingers to dam his despair for the time being. The last time he had held hands with a woman, Alistair had been ten. The priest's hands had been soft but her grip had been rough and uncaring. Amelie's hand was calloused and strong, yet her fingers were gentle as they curled round Alistair's. She took a deep breath and started talking to the apostates.

oooOOOooo

Morrigan had selected a small clearing for their first campsite together. She had announced that they would not need to stand watches as she would put up defences.

"I shall not be able to do this most nights," she said, "but this area is ideal."

"Ideal for what?" Amelie asked.

Morrigan did not answer. Alistair felt her calling up magic, and the witch was gone, replaced by a gigantic spider. Amelie and Alistair had watched with horror and fascination as Morrigan spun thick webbing from tree to tree all around them. In a few minutes they were surrounded by a sticky white wall. Morrigan returned to her natural form and laughed.

"I shall not be the only one to catch flies this night if you do not close your mouths," she said. "Tis simple enough and will give us both protection and warning. Your mutt will no doubt also alert us if any approach?"

"Um, yes, certainly," Amelie managed to reply.

"Then let us eat and sleep. You and Alistair are not fully recovered. You both need a full night's rest."

"Thank you, Morrigan. I'll get the fire started," Amelie said.

Alistair sat and watched the women set up the camp. He knew he should help, feed the fire or chop up carrots or something. It was like he'd been filled in by webbing too, webbing in his head, that stopped new thought forming, leaving the same old thoughts to repeat again and again. Duncan - Loghain - his brothers - Cailan. Earlier they had seen a cart, the oxen dead in the traces. It looked like an army supply cart. Alistair had insisted on checking it for items they could use, and it did provide them with some camping equipment. Actually, he had been hoping the cart belonged to Loghain's troops, maybe with traitors still inside on whom he could vent his rage. Morrigan had been too good at steering them away from darkspawn.

Amelie's Mabari settled down next to him. The dog, Scrof she called it, was another indication of Amelie being high born. Scrof was of impeccable configuration and excellently trained. Alistair reflected on how far apart in life he and Amelie had started, yet now their destinies were irrefutably bound. Stern duty joined them until death. Two of them only to face off a Blight? Alistair knew he did not have the oratory or the charisma to turn those ancient treaties into an army. His Chantry education had not equipped him to lead. Alistair had been told over and again that he was a follower, he wasn't clever enough to lead. He needed to talk it over with Amelie, preferably when the witch would not be able to hear. Alistair settled down to wait. The women went to their bedrolls soon after eating. Scrof left Alistair to lie down next to his mistress.

Once Alistair was sure Morrigan was asleep, he crept over to where Amelie was sleeping. He could see the girl was shivering despite the Mabari pressed against her side. Alistair was still in his armour but he shed it quickly with an ease born of practice. He fetched his own bedroll and laid out next to Amelie on the side not occupied by dog. He rearranged Amelie's blankets and added his own, along with the pair of cloaks he had taken from the cart. Carefully, then, he slid under the blankets to lie next to Amelie. Her shivering stopped quickly. Scrof had watched Alistair without moving or making a noise.

_Well, at least the dog thinks my intentions are pure_, Alistair thought. _I hope Amelie doesn't think I'm trying to seduce her. I should wake her up so we can talk. It doesn't seem fair though. The witch is right. Amelie needs her sleep._

Alistair curled round Amelie's smaller body, leaving a small gap between them. She was wearing the shirt he had bought for her at Ostagar. Amelie stirred slightly and mumbled, "Fergus?" before shifting closer to Alistair.

_Who is Fergus?_ Alistair asked himself. _Duncan said nothing of a husband. He said her family had been killed. I thought he meant parents, siblings. Surely he would have mentioned a husband? I suppose noble women __usually __are married by our age._

Different feelings began gnawing away at the muffling web inside his mind. He lay awake trying to work out what was happening to him. That knifed sensation, when Amelie said another man's name in her sleep, well, was it possible it had been jealously? Oh, he knew he was attracted to her. Alistair had ascribed that to circumstance. Amelie was pretty much the only female of his own age he had spent time with; of course he was going to have a crush on her. Circumstance was now throwing even closer together, literally, tonight.

The big question - if Amelie had been another male, would Alistair have treated him in exactly the same way? At the camp, yes, and in the Wilds, if the man had looked to be in the same state as Amelie, had shown the same skills. He wouldn't have hesitated to sort out some kit for a man, and it would have been a whole lot easier. No taking advantage of Chantry sisters necessary! Afterwards, at Flemeth's, well, he probably wouldn't have hugged a male Amelie or cried on his head. Now? Would he be warming another man with his body or would he have just given the bloke his blankets? That was trickier. Sharing body heat had been part of his survival training in the Templars and the Grey Wardens. He and Duncan had slept under the same blankets several times without embarrassment. "No virtue in being cold," Duncan had remarked.

Alistair considered the matter carefully, eventually deciding it would depend on how likeable the male Amelie was. If the male version had shown the same personality and humour, then yes, Alistair would be under the blankets beside him. Alistair did admit wryly that if the hypothetical male Amelie were pressing against him the way the female Amelie was, he wouldn't have to worry about getting a hard-on, and he was worrying. His nether regions were definitely interested in the soft flesh abutting them. Alistair knew he'd have to use his Templar discipline methods to stop that 'interested' becoming 'eager'.

Alistair finally fell asleep midway through his third recitation of the Templar rules and regulations, grateful for the punishments which had forced him to memorise them. His last thought was about the softness of Amelie's hair against his skin.


	4. Getting to know you

**Getting to know you**

Alistair was woken up by a firm lick to the face. He opened his eyes to see the Mabari's muzzle practically touching his nose. He wondered what he'd done to deserve such an awakening, then realised why. Next to Alistair, Amelie was twitching and shuddering in her sleep.

"Ah, that's people work, is it?" he whispered to the dog, who nudged his head in reply.

Alistair rolled over to his other side, facing Amelie. He didn't know whether to wake the girl outright or try to comfort her while she slept. Well, the second plan did not preclude the first. Alistair put his arm over her and she snuggled up to him at once, her face on his chest, the top of her head fitting neatly under his chin. He stroked her back gently, in much the same way as he would soothe a dog.

"Shush," Alistair murmured. "It's a dream, it can't hurt you."

Amelie gradually stilled and Alistair thought she might stay asleep, the bad dream banished. She didn't though, pulling away a little to look at him. Alistair was amazed Amelie didn't protest at finding herself in his arms under the same blankets.

"I was having another terrible dream about darkspawn," Amelie confided softly.

"Me too," he replied, "but I'm a bit more used to them. We told you, didn't we? About the dreams?"

"Yes, after the ritual. Is it going to be like that every night?"

"I don't know. The Blight is supposed to make the dreams worse, especially if you just joined. For me, I don't dream like that all night or even every night. I did at first though."

"So it might get better or it might not. Great."

"I know, I know. I have all the best news," Alistair responded. "Such as, I bet you're feeling rather hungry right now."

Amelie's stomach growled. "How did you know?" she asked, surprised.

"Don't move. I'll fetch you something," he said, extricating himself from Amelie and the blankets. He returned shortly with the bag of hard biscuits he'd looted from the supply cart, some dried meat and a water canteen.

"It isn't very tasty," he whispered, handing Amelie a biscuit, "but it's something."

"Come back under the blankets," Amelie told him, before biting into the biscuit.

"Sure?"

She nodded, swallowed. "We need to talk and this is as good a time as any. Plus, you're really really warm."

"Aw, you say the nicest things," Alistair smiled, settling down next to her again.

They snacked in silence for several minutes.

"I think you should be in charge of talking to people," Alistair said eventually. "I'm not very good at it, and you seem to be."

"You're very good at talking to me," Amelie countered.

"Really? Because if I am, it's entirely by accident. You heard me and that mage, right? If someone annoys me, I'm no good at hiding it. I can be a bit, well, cheeky."

"Really? Because I hadn't noticed."

"Are you ticklish? Because I'm prepared to tickle you if necessary," Alistair warned.

"I'm not frightened. I have a Mabari," Amelie said. "Give me more of the meat stuff and let me think."

Alistair passed her a strip of dried meat and gnawed on a strip himself.

"Right, I'll do the talking but we decide together beforehand what I'm going to say."

"There'll be times when we can't discuss something, Amelie."

"True. What then?"

"You decide what you think is best and I'll support you. I don't agree I'll just whinge at you afterwards in private. Let's try not to disagree in front of strangers," Alistair suggested. "Or if I really really disagree, I can signal you or something. Tug my ear, maybe."

"Sure? People will assume I'm in charge, Alistair," she replied.

"Amelie, I don't know how to be in charge. I've only ever been trained to follow. Duncan had been trying to break me of the habit but ... They always told me I wasn't up to the responsibility."

"That's rubbish. Who told you that? Chantry busies, I assume?" Amelie sounded cross.

"I was trained to be a Templar. I was supposed to keep my mouth shut and do what I was told."

"What nonsense. I think you'd be a good leader with a little practice to build your confidence."

"We don't have time for me to learn. You already know how, don't you? I could tell, the way you took charge of Daveth and Jory," Alistair stated.

"Yes. Yes, I do. My father trained me, my mother too. I might not know how to cook but I can organise a fighting unit," Amelie admitted.

"Then it's settled. You lead and I cook. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Let's go back to sleep then, shall we? I'll move over here a bit," Alistair said.

"No! Don't!" she exclaimed. "I mean, we'll be warmer if we're close together."

"You've had survival training too?"

Amelie nodded sheepishly. They lay down together. Alistair was surprised when Amelie cuddled up to him without any trace of shyness or awkwardness.

She must have been married, he thought. I have to remember that, have to make myself remember that.

"Mmm, you are so warm," she mumbled into his chest.

_And you're so trusting, and lovely._

oooOOOooo

They were nearly at Lothering. Alistair had been lost in his own thoughts while they travelled. As they left the Imperial Highway to cut over to Lothering, Alistair asked Amelie what they were going to do next. Truthfully, he'd sort of forgotten about the witch, because Morrigan hadn't been saying much either. Now, though, she launched a scathing attack on Alistair, castigating him for his silence and his grief. Alistair tried to defend himself but he wasn't used verbal venom of this kind.

Amelie stepped in and dragged Morrigan to one side. Alistair didn't hear most of the conversation. There were bits about not angering someone who'd stopped you being skewered by bandits, and if Amelie didn't object to his behaviour, Morrigan shouldn't pick at him. His fellow Warden looked downright fierce.

Morrigan eventually shrugged and said,"I'll try if you insist."

He hadn't heard what Amelie had told Morrigan to do. He thought he probably didn't want to know. Anyway, Amelie told them both that they needed more recent news before they make a final decision on where to go first. Loghain was out of the question. He would be too difficult to get at. Besides if they hacked down the Hero of River Dane without first proving him a regicide, they would be slaughtered pretty much immediately.

Lothering was in chaos. There were refugees everywhere. The Chantry was packed out but they met someone Alistair recognised, a knight from Redcliffe. Amelie had found a locket and a letter addressed to Ser Donall on a bandit she had killed. It was a blow to learn Arl Eamon had a serious illness. They would not be able to get immediate aid from him. Alistair decided the Arlessa must be half-mad to insist on the Sacred Ashes as the only possible cure. As a child he had thought Isolde unstable but maturity had revised that opinion. Currently he was wondering if he'd been right the first time.

Alistair and Amelie decided to do the jobs on the Chanter's board. Morrigan was not best pleased but reluctantly agreed the money would be handy. The witch had disapproved of Amelie involving them in various disputes. Amelie stood her ground, explained that these people had been abandoned by their bann, that they needed to know the Grey Wardens were standing staunch against the darkspawn, that the Wardens cared about their plight. Amelie insisted that the only way Alistair and she had to disprove Loghain's lies was through their actions. If that meant calming battle-shocked men and intimidating profiteering merchants, so be it.

Alistair agreed with Amelie's reasoning, especially after some of Loghain's men attacked them in the inn. They defeated Loghain's hounds easily. Alistair had wanted to kill them. Instead Amelie made a big performance out of showing mercy to the men while the whole tavern watched.

"We're going to be doing some awful deeds, I expect, Alistair," Amelie said to him privately. "And there will be plenty of killing for us all to do. In public though, we'll kiss babies and help old ladies and get rid of bandits. The better we look, the worse Loghain looks."

"That's devious," he replied. "I like it."

A lay Chantry sister had helped them in the fight. When she said she'd had a dream about fighting the Blight and wanted to join them, Alistair had been dubious. Amelie had agreed to the woman's request after a few questions about her fighting skills. The witch had disapproved.

Morrigan's opinion changed somewhat when Leliana persuaded the Revered Mother to release her prisoner into the custody of the Wardens. Alistair was pleased to learn that he and Morrigan had more in common than simply their species. He too had thought it disgusting the Qunari was being left to the darkspawn.

Another of Alistair's hopes was crushed in Lothering as well. Ferelden's other teryn, Bryce Cousland, the logical choice to lead the opposition to Loghain, was dead. He had been accused of treason and killed even before the final battle at Ostagar.

"That's terrible news," he said to Amelie. "I'd thought Arl Eamon could introduce us to the teryn and if the Couslands backed us, Loghain would lose support. Do you think there's any truth to the treason accusation?"

"None! None at all! My ... teryn would never have betrayed Cailan, and certainly not the way Loghain did," Amelie declared, flushing with temper.

Too late, Alistair remembered Amelie came from Highever, the Couslands' home. As a noble woman she had no doubt known the Couslands. That might have even been why her family had been killed. Foot in mouth again!

"I didn't think so either," he said mildly. "Loghain planned for Cailan to die at Ostagar, didn't he? Well in advance, I mean."

"That's what I believe, Alistair. Loghain and Howe will pay for their crimes, I promise you." Amelie was fervent, fiery. Alistair was glad she was his ally, not his enemy.

"Good," he said, "good to know we're on the same page."

"Let's plan," Amelie suggested. "I know you're keen to get to Redcliffe but I'm wondering if we should go to the mages first? There's trouble there, apparently. If we can head that off, then the Circle might join us more easily. Plus it will give the arl more time to recover before we turn up on his doorstep demanding aid."

Alistair considered her suggestion. It seemed sound. "I agree. Let's go to the Circle."


	5. Women Trouble

**Women Trouble**

Alistair and Amelie were sitting on the shore of Lake Calenhad. They had escaped from their companions by lying. Amelie had claimed they needed privacy for her Grey Warden 'lessons'. The others could hardly argue with that, though Morrigan looked as though she was going to try.

"This is such a bad idea," Amelie said. "They are never going to get on. I must have been mad to agree to Leliana coming along."

"To be fair, we were thinking more about her stabbity-stabness, which was quite scary," Alistair observed.

"I should have realised anyone who claims to have had a vision from the Maker was going to be, well, religious."

"At least Leliana has a good singing voice. Can you imagine how much worse it would be if she was croaky and out of tune?"

Amelie shoved him.

"I'm trying to look on the bright side, Amelie," Alistair complained.

"It's all right for you, you spent ten years in an abbey. You're used to all this constant religion, Alistair."

Leliana started each morning by singing part of the Chant of Light. She finished each day by singing part of the Chant of Light. Meals were preceded by prayer or, guess what, more singing.

"Erm, it's shown us that Morrigan isn't as evil as we thought?"

"Huh?" Amelie raised a questioning eyebrow.

"If she was, Leliana would have been a frog the first time she woke us up at dawn with her devotions," Alistair explained.

"Very true. If Morrigan can resist that immense temptation then you're probably safe from transformation."

They both wandered around in their own thoughts for a few minutes. Alistair was considering how they were going to sneak an apostate past the Templars at the Circle. Morrigan positively flaunted her apostate-hood. Probably best to leave Morrigan behind, he decided. I doubt she'd get on with the Circle mages either. In fact, is there anyone Morrigan does get on with? She didn't seem to have a great relationship with her mother even.

"I think canticle sounds like a dirty word," Amelie announced.

"What!" Alistair was startled from his sensible musings.

"Come on, don't you think so? It's a great expletive. 'Oh canticle!'"

"Don't get your canticles in a twist," Alistair sniggered.

Amelie giggled. "I bet he's got a lovely canticle."

"Look at the canticles on her. You don't get many of those to the pound."

"A pox on your canticles!" Amelie declared.

"Well, I hope your canticles drop off," Alistair replied.

"If you don't stop fiddling with those canticles you'll go blind."

Alistair keeled over backwards, roaring with laughter. Amelie collapsed, chuckling. Whenever one of them seem to recover, the other gasped 'canticles' and the giggles would take over again. It took some minutes for the laughter to die down.

"You've ruined me," Alistair accused. "I'm never going to be able to sit through a Chantry service again."

"You didn't want to anyway," Amelie argued.

"We'd better go back," he sighed.

"I know. Maybe Sten has had another murderous rage and hacked those two bickering biddies into tiny pieces?" she suggested.

"Don't get my hopes up like that. It's cruel."

oooOOOooo

The usual boatman had been replaced by a callow Templar who refused point blank to row them over to the tower. Alistair was ready to chuck the lad in the water and row the boat himself when Leliana intervened. She shimmied forward and simpered. Alistair didn't understand how anyone could shimmy in splintmail, never mind a religious loon. Anyway, some simpering, some smiling and the Templar was begging them to get into the boat. Amelie made an astonished expression at Alistair behind Leliana's back. He struggled to keep his face straight.

Sitting next to him in the boat, Amelie whispered in Alistair's ear. "I think I've discovered a huge gap in Templar training."

"And what would that be?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"No resistance to feminine wiles."

"Only if the woman is pretty," Alistair replied without thinking.

"Oh ho! Got a crush, have you?" Amelie teased.

"Yes, but not on her." Alistair looked sideways into Amelie's eyes and was gratified to see her blush. Maker's breath, she was beautiful.

The tower was in turmoil. Alistair knew something was hideously wrong as soon as they went through the door. Not a mage in sight and some of the Templars looked downright panic stricken.

"Do you know any of them?" Amelie asked.

Alistair scanned the room. "No."

"Good. You are now officially our secret weapon."

"Fantastic. Just what I've always hankered after."

The knight-commander was furious at their arrival. He calmed somewhat when Amelie introduced herself, and calmed still further when she offered to do his job for him. Abominations loose through the whole tower? No problem. Abominations are the merest inconvenience for Grey Wardens, Amelie hinted.

Maybe I should have told her I've only ever seen a couple of abominations? Alistair wondered. Nah. Leliana can bore them to death and Sten can stare them into submission.

Amelie bought a pack from the quartermaster in the foyer of the tower.

"Before we go in, I've got some extra instructions for you," she said to Alistair and Leliana.

"Fine," Alistair said.

"If it isn't nailed down and we can use it or sell it, take it," Amelie instructed.

"That's stealing, surely."

Alistair thought Leliana's protest was strangely half-hearted for someone who had recently left the Chantry.

"We're doing the Templars' job for them. We're saving the mages. Did Greagoir offer to reward us? Feed us? Equip us? No. We've got a Blight to battle and no resources except what we can beg, borrow or steal. I'd rather steal than beg," Amelie explained.

"Oh, I see." Leliana frowned. "I, um, I can pick locks, on chests and such like."

Alistair and Amelie exchanged surprised glances. Lay sister, Andraste's holy bum! Alistair thought.

They hadn't got very far into the main tower when a white haired mage accosted them.

"Stay back" she warned, magic staff at the ready.

Alistair recognised her as one of the mages who had been at Ostagar. He nudged Amelie, who nodded back.

"Wynne? Isn't it?" he asked. "We met at Ostagar. I'm Alistair, a Grey Warden."

Wynne relaxed slightly but did not lower her staff. "And your new recruit. It matters not. I will not let you harm these children."

Sure enough, there was a scattering of teenagers and younger children around the room.

"Why would we want to?" Amelie asked. "We're here to get rid of abominations."

The mage hesitated. "I assumed you had been sent in to kill us all."

"No. We volunteered to deal with abominations and demons, not children," Amelie said.

"Not even really pesky ones," Alistair agreed, making a silly face at a little girl peeking out from behind a young woman.

Wynne dropped her attack stance and put away her staff. "Oh, what a relief."

"Not much of one, I'm afraid," Amelie responded. "The knight-commander has sent for the Rite of Annulment. He will only believe the tower is safe if the First Enchanter tells him so."

"And why do the Grey Wardens involve themselves?" Wynne asked.

"There is a Blight. The darkspawn horde is moving north. If Ferelden is to survive, we need mages," Amelie asserted.

"Very well. I will take you further in," Wynne said.

oooOOOooo

It was well into the night when they returned to their camp on the shore of Lake Calenhad. Morrigan was sitting by the central fire. A pot of soup was simmering.

"You have been a very long time," Morrigan snapped. "Tis unfair to leave me with that stinking mutt for so long."

Amelie slumped down next to the fire. "I agree. Next time I'll dog-sit and you can fight the crazed blood mages, the demons and the hordes of abominations."

"Tis not what I meant at all! I had started to wonder if you were coming back," the witch said, less furiously.

"Don't say you were worried about us!" Alistair quipped. "I'd have to think you had been possessed as well."

"The Blight is what worries me, fool Templar," Morrigan snarled.

"Morrigan, meet Wynne, who is a senior Circle mage, come to help us. Wynne, this is Morrigan, who grew up in the Wilds and who definitely isn't a Chantry regulated mage." Amelie performed a perfunctory introduction while starting to remove her armour.

Alistair watched apprehensively as the two women eyed each other warily. Morrigan wasn't going to get on with Wynne either, he realised. More fireside fighting and breakfast bickering. At least they'd managed to con another couple of tents out of Greagoir. He wouldn't have to share with creepy Sten any more and Amelie wouldn't have to share with Leliana. Apparently, their Grey Warden nightmares made the others uncomfortable, so they shouldn't argue about he and Amelie each getting a tent to themselves.

The logical option would have been for Alistair and Amelie to share a tent. However, as Morrigan had complained incessantly about how unseemly it was for Alistair and Amelie to sleep in the same bedroll out in the open, separate tents it had to be. Unseemly! This from a woman who showed off her lady bits like they were her coat of arms. Alistair was astonished Morrigan knew the meaning of the word.

Fortunately, Leliana and Wynne were being agreeable to each other. They had religion in common. Hopefully that meant they could share a tent without snarling and bitching. Alistair suppressed a groan. He had had hopes, after seeing Leliana in action today, that she might stop all the singing and chanting and prayer. Or least tone it down a bit. After all, someone who had no qualms about seducing a pimply Templar or breaking into the First Enchanter's locked chests really had no right to swan around being showily devout. Having an appreciative audience might encourage Leliana to keep going though.

Thank the Maker Sten is surly and uncommunicative! Alistair thought. It certainly prevented religious arguments from breaking out in addition to the female jostling for position. He had a vague memory of being told that the Qunari cut the tongues out of their mages. It was becoming an increasingly attractive proposition.

Alistair noticed that Amelie was about to fall asleep while wearing most of her armour.

"Morrigan, would you help me unbuckle Amelie's armour, please?" he asked nicely.

"Of course, dear Alistair. Then shall I serve you some soup? I have made some Chasind style flatbread as well." The witch attempted a pleasant expression.

Alistair was terrified. Morrigan was trying to be nice to him? Horror of horrors. She wanted him to take her side in the Women War, plainly. Now, Alistair might have little experience of women but even he knew men should not involve themselves in female feuding. How was he going to get out of this trap?


End file.
